To the Brink
by Music's Dance
Summary: Snobby Draco Malfoy is caught in the middle of a group of revenge-hungry Death Eaters; and who's there to save him other than Ginny Weasley? One problem - Ginny is hit with a strange curse that gives her a strange Muggle disease no one's heard of: cancer.


Draco Malfoy shuffled the last of his papers, aligning them with the corner of his desk. Smoothing his hand over the immaculate wood, he nodded in satisfaction. Quickly skimming his eyes over the rest of his large office to be sure that everything he was in its proper place, he gathered his coat and bag and pushed the door open with his shoulder. Striding quickly through the bright-lit hallways, he strutted through the top-floor lobby and jabbed the elevator button with his elbow.

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy!" His secretary called as the doors slid open. He grunted noncommittally, stepping inside – what was her name? Ms. Larson, or something along those lines? Shrugging it off, he didn't bother to glance at her before the doors clanged shut again with a ding, almost masking the woman's huff of indignity. He rolled his eyes. Really, she'd been working for him for almost two weeks now; she should really understand how his office worked by now. He'd done her a favor by hiring her – now, it was her duty to be at his beck and call without actually _being_ there. Simple.

The elevator music was rather annoying, but he couldn't help the slight smile that pushed its way into his features, where it remained until he stood outside the building, staring up at it. It was his. DM, Inc. His eyes traced the bright lights that spelled out his initials, and the smile broke into a large grin. Yes, this building was his. His name, his work, his ownership. No, his father hadn't had one bit to do with the development of his company, and nor would he ever. He'd long abandoned his father and his…associations, instead choosing to start anew.

And look where he'd gotten. Even with his father's history on his shoulders he'd progressed to be one of the biggest names in the wizarding world. Not only had he developed a hugely successful company and become mind-blowingly rich – rich_er_ – he was a bloody hero.

Harry Potter had saved the day, sure, but it was commonly acknowledged that he, Draco Malfoy, had played a large part in ending the war. He'd sent his father and his merry men to Azkaban. Or, some of them, anyways. Even when using the strategy of surprise, it isn't the easiest feat in the world to overtake a group of Death Eaters. He and Potter'd been able to get a great group of them incapacitated before they'd been split up - Potter, of course, ending up with his two best friends, and Draco left alone to deal with the few remaining Death Eaters; the ones who were loyal enough to that snake-eyed tyrant to actually stick around. Sure, Potter got most of the credit for taking down Voldemort himself, but hey – at least you get some credit for hexing the faces off of a few Death Eaters.

Shaking his head, he strolled down the street, reveling in the silence. No one was crazy enough to be out at three in the morning, especially during the Christmas season, being bloody freezing. Except for him, of course, but he owned a whole company! It was his responsibility to keep it running; he had to be here. Well, perhaps not in this damp alleyway, but it was the easiest shortcut back to the Apparition point and he wasn't about to ruin his expensive shoes _walking_. It would be wasteful.

The custom dragon-skin boots splashed in the puddles, and he winced. So the boots were waterproof – still, he didn't want them soiled with murky water. It would be a shame to have to throw them out; he'd never be able to donate such fine boots. What if they ended up in the hands of a Mudblood or blood traitor? They might die in the excitement of actually owning such fine boots.

Saving the world didn't mean he would actually _like _those lower-class scum.

He shook his head, taking brisker steps through the alley as he tightened the coat around his frame, listening to the deep clicks of his boots on the bricks.

_Crck, crck, crck. _

_Sprsh._

He froze.

Unless he'd suddenly sprouted another foot, complete with a cheap, squishy excuse for a shoe, he was definitely not alone. Turning slowly, his eyes searched the darkness warily, his hand slowly moving under his cloak to find his wand holster.

"Don't bother. Won't do you any good." The voice filtered through the darkness, and his eyes shot towards the sound. A black-cloaked figure stepped out of the deep shadows, the hood pulled far forward to cover the face. Draco stiffened. Was it irony, after just reminiscing on his victory over these men, to have them appear now? For indeed, five more men had stepped out of the darkness after the first, their cloaks all pulled over their faces identically. Even without seeing their faces, he could sense the malicious grins.

"What do you want?" His voice came out steady, refusing to promote the image of himself as being vulnerable or weak – which he probably was at the moment, but that was of no matter.

Silence greeted him, and Draco sucked in a breath. He knew what that meant. Years of living in his father's house had taught him that.

Three.

Two.

One.

His hand shot towards his wand, whipping it out. Sparks flew out of it, hitting one of them in the chest and throwing him into the brick wall. The Death Eater slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Immediately, curses were flying every which way. Flashing lights and yelling as Draco darted in and out of the fray, desperately trying not to make himself an easy target. He was ridiculously outnumbered, and he yelled in frustration as the five men stalked ever forward, powered by anger, glee, and a lust for revenge. He couldn't play offense anymore, only able to conjure one _Protego_ after another.

He was about ready to just surrender and die – perhaps save himself the trouble of wasting the last of his energy in the last few minutes of his life – when someone yelled savagely and threw out another curse. Except that it wasn't aimed at Draco. Rather, it hit an unsuspecting Death Eater in the back and sent him writhing to the floor. Without another beat, Draco and his newfound savior resumed battling, sending down another man with a yell.

Flashes of color, crashing as spells rebounded off the walls.

And suddenly it was over, and each Death Eater lay unconscious on the ground. He grinned at the figure across the alleyway, and the figure shrugged as if to say, "Whatever. Can we just turn them in now?"

He nodded in reply, and the pair quickly held out their wands, ropes shooting out to wrap around the unconscious men with a wordless spell. Pulling on one of the ropes to make sure it was fixed tight, he frowned suddenly.

"Hold on a minute, there's five of them. Where's the last one -"

There was a slurry of words that he couldn't understand, a bright flash of red, and his savior was on the ground.

"Stupefy!" The hiding Death Eater was thrown to the ground, and Draco quickly tied him as well. Stalking forwards angrily, he held his wand to the man's throat threateningly. "What did you do? What spell was that?" The man lifted his face and only grinned at him. Hissing, he kicked the man in the face and successfully rendered him unconscious. He growled angrily, barely persuading himself not to give the scum another kick for good measure.

Dragging the man to the pile of other unconscious Death Eaters, he muttered violently to himself; most of them having to do with killing and bastards who didn't know how to stay put in dark prisons with heavy guards.

He spat bitterly as he stalked towards the still-unconscious figure on the ground. Prodding it gently with his foot, somewhat pissed at it for not noticing that they hadn't downed all six of the Death Eaters before getting hit with a curse, he finally knelt and rolled the person onto his back.

_Her_ back.

He recoiled in shock.

No, he hadn't expected it to be a girl.

Nor did he think his savior would end up being Ginny Weasley.

Yes, he'd probably give her hell for inconveniencing him on his way home from work. Sure, she'd technically saved his life, but she was a Weasley! It was tradition, he couldn't go and do something as ridiculous as _thanking_ her. It went against all of his moral principles.

On the other hand, he might not have to say anything to her at all. He was pretty sure that the blood leaking from her mouth wasn't exactly normal.

Then again, she was a Weasley –

Holy Merlin, what the bloody hell - ?

No, the way her eyes were rolling in her head was definitely not normal.

"Shit!"

* * *

Gasp! A new story!

Yeah, so I just posted a new chapter to my other story yesterday...but I was struck by inspiration! I couldn't help myself.

Kind of pleased with how it's turning out so far, but tell me what you think! Reviews appreciated.

Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to JKR, no matter how much I wish I could steal it from her.

Thanks for reading!

- Music


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